Through a Cat's Eyes
by LJlashlarue
Summary: Minerva is unhappy that Dumbledore landed Harry with the Dursleys, so she keeps an eye on things. She finds help from an unexpected source. Written for Minervafest on LJ 2014.


**Title:**"Through a Cat's Eyes"

**Author:**Lash_Larue

**Rating:**PG13

**Word Count:**4005

Charact**ers and/or Pairings:/**bCat!Minerva and Ripper

**Summary:**Sometimes animals see more clearly than people, and friends are where you find them.

**Warnings:**Might be a touch sentimental.

"Through a Cat's Eyes "

"You don't mean - you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore, you can't..."

"... Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?" Dumbledore explained.

"Yes - yes, you're right, of course..." she replied. _"But you are undoubtedly up to something as usual, Albus Dumbledore. Also as usual, you are keeping your own counsel on the matter. Well enough, then, but I shall be keeping an eye on things myself. Just in case."_

Beneath the bushes by the porch of number four Privet drive, a cat in fact kept two green eyes on the bundle of blankets swaddling the boy who lived. Just in case. When Harry had been carried into the house, the cat rose, stretched, and disappeared into the morning.

"Shoo! Scat!" Vernon Dursley insisted. The tabby cat perched on Vernon's window ledge stared at him blandly, but otherwise did not react at all. Vernon briefly considered giving it a good poke with his brolly, but something in the feline's calm regard gave him pause.

"This is a private residence, I'll have you know. Not some sort of hippy crash-pad. Off with you!" he tried.

The cat yawned, and Vernon gave it up as not worth his time. He supposed that the cat might have belonged to his late and unlamented sister-in-law. It had turned up some time ago, almost simultaneously with his inconvenient nephew. The cat, at least, was no trouble. Never made a sound, didn't scratch his motorcar, didn't chase the songbirds in the garden. Didn't act like a normal cat at all, insofar as he could determine, not knowing an awful lot about cats.

"Very well, then. See that you keep the mice in check, and you may stay. Mind you, you'll get no food out of us, you needn't expect that!"

Satisfied that he had established the proper relationship between man and beast, Vernon departed for work. Actually, he rather liked the cat, not that he would ever admit to any such thing. The cat, of course, knew this perfectly well.

She still, however, thought that Vernon Dursley was a complete arse. And she was not happy that Dumbledore had landed Harry Potter here like some addle-brained cuckoo that had laid its egg in a crocodile's nest. She had to admit that Harry seemed safe, though. Neither she nor any of Figgy's kneazles had seen any sign whatsoever of anyone seeking to harm the boy. Other than his relatives in their own insidious fashion, that was to say. But she had many other children that were her responsibility, and it was time for her to attend to them. She left a parting gift of a dead mouse precisely in the middle of the porch, butted heads with the part-kneazle that was to be on watch, and left.

"How is Harry, Professor McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked when she entered his office.

"He's still alive, and they don't actually beat him. But really, Albus -"

"It's the safest place for him. It's the _only_ safe place for him," Dumbledore cut her off. "I must ask you to trust me on this, Minerva."

"You ask for a lot of trust, you know."

"I do indeed. Do I have yours?" he replied calmly.

"Yes, confound it, you do. However I still don't like him being there."

"You are not obliged to," Dumbledore conceded. "I must also point out that if the Dursleys become aware of your surveillance, Harry will likely suffer for it. Petunia has a very deep animus towards the magical world. If I cannot convince you to leave off, do be careful," Dumbledore cautioned.

"Grandmothers and eggs, Albus. And so long as we are being candid with one another I must say that you are always much more forthcoming with 'whats' than 'whys'," she countered.

"I didn't know you had a cat, Petunia," Marjorie Dursley said by way of greeting. "Surely you'd be better off with a good, honest dog. I have a litter ready to wean and I should be delighted to give you a fine pup. A boy should have a dog, you know."

"We don't have a cat, it just took up here. Frankly, I think that Vernon has taken a bit of a shine to it, he's given up trying to run it off, says it's no trouble and keeps the vermin down. I also simply can't be bothered with an animal with Diddikins and the boy to look after, Marjorie, you must realize this," Petunia said.

"Aye, well, perhaps when Dudley is old enough to care for a dog himself, then. I don't suppose you'll be able to count on much help from your wretched sister's get. Not to speak ill of your family, Petunia," she hastened to add. Petunia inclined her head in acknowledgement. "However, I believe that I can help with the cat. Ripper! See that old puss down the road!"

Ripper charged through the doorway, the very embodiment of ferocity, and the cat bolted around the corner of the house. Ripper had no chance at all of catching her, of course, his legs were very strong, but too short and bent for real speed. The cat, however, had no intention of fleeing far. It stopped as soon as the humans were well out of sight and turned to face the onrushing Ripper.

For a surprised instant, Ripper thought he might actually catch her.

Then he found that his sturdy legs were merely churning the air several inches above the ground while the cat regarded him calmly, and he realized that things were not precisely as he had assumed.

"You're never a proper cat," he accused.

"Well spotted. I wonder if we might have a brief conversation?" the cat asked.

"Can't see that I 'ave much of a choice at the moment," he answered.

"You know that the boy, Harry, is a bit different, correct?"

"He's a wizard, you mean? 'snot my fault, that."

"Indeed it isn't, but I should like to enlist your help in keeping a watchful eye on him," the cat said.

"Might be difficult. I 'ave a job to do, you understand, and my mistress is not over-fond of the boy," Ripper explained.

"I do quite understand, but since when have you had any trouble cozening her? Just keep your eyes open, would you? And if you sense anyone actually intending to harm him, do feel free to eat them up, right?"

"Love to," Ripper replied with a grin. "I wonder if I might trouble you to set me back on me feet? Only this is a bit unsettling for a bulldog, this floating business."

"Of course - we do have an agreement then? I should like that to be clear before I release you."

"We do indeed, mistress the cat. I wouldn't have 'urt you anyways. Between you an' me, I rather like cats, but one 'as to keep up appearances. I would very much appreciate it if you would give out a terrified yowl or two to 'elp that along, if you would."

"I'd be delighted, and you may call me Minerva."

"Ripper to you an' yours then, Minerva. I'll just growl an' bark a bit for effect... uhh, you know I'll 'ave to be chasin' you again?"

"Of course. We all have our parts to play. Well-met, Ripper, you may proceed."

Even Marjorie was a bit frightened by the barks, snarls, and yowls that came from around the side of the house. Ripper trotted back into view with his chest puffed out.

"Good dog!" said Marjorie.

"Mr. Paws has taken quite a shine to you, Minerva," Arabella Figg informed her with a twinkle in her eyes. "Do I need to prepare for kittens?"

"Don't be absurd, Arabella," Minerva replied shortly. "I wasn't born yesterday, after all. I know how to be careful, although I have to admit that Mr. Paws is a fine figure of a Tom."

"What? You don't mean to say that you and Mr. Paws..." She fell silent, her face ablaze with embarrassment.

"Don't ask if you don't want to know, Arabella. Now then, I could do with a spot more tea before we go over the watch schedule for next month. There is danger in letting things become too routine."

Mr. Paws jumped up onto Minerva's lap and settled in, his eyes squeezed shut in contented bliss as she scratched beneath his chin.

"Such a handsome fellow you are, Mr. Paws," crooned Minerva. Arabella looked back over her shoulder several times on her way to the kitchen.

_"Surely not,"_ she thought.

But she was not all that certain about it.

"We have an unexpected ally that you should know about, Arabella," Minerva said. "Lovely tea, thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Minerva. An ally, you say?"

"Yes, Marjorie Dursley's bulldog, Ripper."

"Ripper! You can't mean that great, slavering brute of a dog! He's a monster, chases my babies at every opportunity!"

"As he says, he has a job to do. Rest assured that he would never actually harm one of your friends, even if he could catch them," Minerva said.

_"Which is a laughable notion,"_ Mr. Paws added. He yawned.

"In any case, when Ripper is present we can move the watch a bit farther afield. That will give us better coverage, and also make it appear that Ripper is keeping us cats at bay, which will earn him points with his harridan of an owner."

"You're sure? I've noticed him casting appraising looks at my legs."

"I suspect that he merely appreciates a well-turned ankle, Arabella. But yes, I am sure. Anyone truly seeking to harm Harry in Ripper's presence will receive a most unwelcome surprise."

Harry might have disagreed with the opinion that Ripper was looking out for him, for at that moment he was staring at the growling bulldog from the sanctuary of a tree. He quite missed the humor on the dog's face, though he clearly saw the malevolent glee on his owner's. Harry was simply never going to warm up to his Aunt Marge.

The noise reached Figgy's house.

"Shouldn't you check on that, Minerva?"

"Yes, I might as well. Want to come along, Mr. Paws?"

Mr. Paws vacated Minerva's lap and sat waiting expectantly. He quite liked it when he witnessed Minerva's transformation into a cat. For him, it was like watching a flower burst into bloom. A flower with just a hint of catnip scent. They rubbed jaws and exited through the cat door.

"Surely not..." Arabella said again. Tufty managed to hide his laughter by pretending to be working on a hairball.

Peering through a gap in the hedge, Minerva and Mr. Paws saw the gathered Dursleys laughing at Harry's discomfiture.

"One has to give him credit, Ripper does put his heart into his work," Mr. Paws allowed.

"As does a certain kneazle of my aquaintance," Minerva purred.

"You're shameless, you know."

"Utterly. Catch me if you can..."

"Everything is under control at the Dursely's, Arabella. Ripper was merely playing his part, although I daresay young Harry didn't appreciate the nuances of his performance. I have to say that I don't envy Ripper's position, that Marjorie woman is hateful."

"Thank you for checking, Minerva, more tea?"

"No thank you, Arabella. I must get back to the school. Do you have any questions about the new schedule?"

"None. Did Mr. Paws stay at the Dursleys?"

"No, he found a patch of sun to his liking in your garden. Thank you ever so much for your help with Harry. I do feel much better knowing that you and your friends have an eye out."

"We're honoured to help. Give my regards to Dumbledore."

Minerva smiled, nodded, and flooed away.

As she had stepped into the fire, Arabella had a glimpse of the back of Minerva's neck. It looked a bit - chewed. She carried the teapot into the kitchen to do another brew, and through the window over the sink saw Mr. Paws sprawled liquidly in his bit of sunshine.

"Perhaps a drop of sherry," she said to no one in particular.

"I don't want to go to Aunt Marge's. Can't I stay with Mrs. Figg? Or I could stay alone, I'm old enough now," Harry pleaded.

"Mrs. Figg is recovering from her broken leg," Vernon said shortly. "She can't possibly put up with the likes of you, and there is no way on earth we're leaving you alone in this house. You're fortunate that Marjorie is willing to look after you, and mind that you treat her with proper respect, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry had learned that "Yes" was the proper answer to anything that his Aunt or Uncle demanded of him. Still, he hated Aunt Marge, and was sure that the feeling was mutual. And there was also Ripper. Harry checked that his trainers were properly tied.

Looking forward to an afternoon of cleaning out kennels, Harry didn't notice the tabby cat by the garden wall as he took his place in the rear seat of the car. Vernon did, but quickly stifled his smile lest Petunia notice it. Petunia saw the cat, and sniffed disdainfully. Petunia had yet to learn appreciation for the gifts occasionally left on the porch. Dudley didn't, as he was busy unwrapping his 19th present, which turned out to be boxing gloves. Harry did not share in Dudley's joy.

After the car rounded the corner, Minerva trotted into the back garden, transformed, and swiftly Apparated away. She knew where they were taking Harry, and of course had found out where Marjorie Dursley lived. To this point she had refrained from hexing the woman, out of respect for Ripper. But it had not been easy.

"Minerva! A pleasure to see you," Ripper greeted her.

"You as well, my friend. Harry is on his way." Ripper sighed.

" 'ere we go again. I'm that tired of chasin' the lad. 'e can run like the wind, though. Credit w'ere it's due."

"Speaking of that, Mr. Paws sends his compliments on your last performance. Truly impressive."

"Convey my thanks to the lad, an' I return the compliment. There's nought wrong wi' me 'earing," He said with a grin.

"Cheeky bugger, aren't you?"

"Characteristic o' the breed," he admitted, shaking his jowls.

"Breath mint, Ripper?" Ripper ignored her.

"Still, I expect the lad will be too busy cleaning for me to 'ave to chase 'im much. I 'ave to say that's gettin' old." He hesitated. "I'm a bit worried, Minerva. My mistress an' the boy - well, they don' get along at all."

"Do you think she might actually harm him, Ripper?"

"I'm more thinkin' the other way 'round. The lad is comin' to a boil."

"He'll be back at Hogwarts soon, Ripper. We'll be able to help him learn control there. He's had a very rough beginning, you know."

"Aye, an' I'm sorry my mistress 'as so taken against 'im. Say, would you like to see me kids?"

"You have children?"

"Well, pups, more like, but yeah. Four weeks old an' full o' beans. Two fine lads an' three bonnie lasses. They're just over there wi' their mum," Ripper explained.

"I'd love to see them! Oh, will they bark and chase me, and what about your - wife?" Ripper chuckled.

"They won' chase yer. Never seen a cat afore, mind, so they'll do a deal o' sniffin'. That's how they learn abou' things at that age, an' Penelope loves ter show 'em off. We're not really wed, it doesn' work that way for show dogs, but this is our third litter together an' we get on well enough. This way then, Minerva."

She followed Ripper to a large kennel set a ways apart from the others.

"Penelope, I've brought a friend to see the kids, are they awake?" In answer to his question the entire litter of pups came tumbling out of the shelter, tripping over their own feet in their eagerness. Minerva thought that they were rather spectacularly ugly, but they were undeniably bright, healthy, and simply bursting with enthusiasm. She could not help but smile. Still, she was glad of the fence between them; it helped prevent drowning. "Minerva, Penelope, Penelope, my friend Minerva," Ripper said in introduction.

"Greetings, Minerva, Winston has told me about you. I've never met an Animagus before."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Penelope. My compliments on your family, they are quite - exuberant." Penelope inclined her head. "Winston?" Minerva asked as the name dawned on her.

"Grand Champion Sir Winston Ironjaw of Dursleyfield, at your service," Ripper said formally, sketching a bow. "Fair jaw-cracker, innit? I 'ave to say that I prefer 'Ripper', but one 'as to 'ave something grand to put on the papers. Penelope likes 'Winston', though," Ripper shrugged.

"I see, and may I ask?" Minerva looked at Penelope.

"Champion Lady Guinevere Grace of Dursleyfield," Ripper supplied. Penelope rolled her eyes.

"Fancy name for a mobile set of tits, isn't it?" Penelope said. "Still, it's not a bad life. We get to travel a bit, our mistress takes good care of us, and she is most particular about who she places our pups with. I do have to put up with Winston, but there are worse dogs I might have been paired with."

"Don' get all mushy, Penelope," Ripper cautioned. "Kids doin' all righ', are they then?"

"Our best litter yet, I think. The red brindle lass is particularly fine. The mistress plans to keep her." Minerva looked at the pup under discussion, and she did indeed stand out. She had a certain dignity about her, and while she joined enthusiastically in play with her siblings she spent much less time falling down than the rest of them.

"I certainly cannot claim any real knowledge of your breed, but she does have an air about her," Minerva agreed.

"I'll make sure that everyone takes it easy on the boy, Minerva," Penelope told her. "He's not a bad sort, much nicer to us than that Dudley creature."

"There's the Dursley's car. I must leave, it wouldn't do at all for Harry's uncle to see me here. Thank you for your help, my friend."

"Glad to 'elp out. Tell Mr. Paws I'll give 'im a break next time. Let 'im recover 'is strength, like."

Minerva hissed briefly and ran into the woods while Ripper chuckled.

"Ripper! Come."

_"Back ter the salt mines..."_ Ripper sighed.

"That lad of yours was bang out of line, Minerva, blowin' up my mistress like what 'e did," Ripper said solemnly. "Gave me a bit of a turn, 'er floatin' off like that. I grant you 'e was provoked, but still..."

"Indeed. I quite see your point, Ripper. Rest assured that I shall make it clear to him the seriousness of what he did, whether he intended to do it or no. I wonder if you've seen anything out of the ordinary around here of late?"

"Apart from my mistress turnin' into a zeppelin, you mean? Well, there was a big dog 'angin' about," Ripper told her.

"Is that unusual?"

"Not so much, but there was summat odd about 'im." Minerva had learned to respect Ripper's instincts. Their meetings had been relatively few, and by necessity brief, but in that time they had become solid friends with a real bond of trust, as unlikely as that might seem to some.

"There is a real threat to the boy, Ripper. An escaped criminal, dangerously insane. I should also point out that he has demonstrated a total lack of regard for innocent bystanders in the past. In point of fact, he's killed several of them. I shouldn't think that your mistress would be in any danger from him if Harry is not around, but one cannot be too careful."

"I thank you for the information, and you may be sure I'll keep my eyes peeled. Alas, I'm gettin' on a bit though. Not the dog I used to be." Ripper sighed.

"Joints a bit creaky are they, old man?"

"Aye."

"I can help with that, a friend of mine is a wonder with animals, and she has a potion that is quite effective. I use it myself. It only really works when I'm in my cat form, but that's a fair bit of the time. It's only needed once a month. Where can I leave it for you?"

"You know where my 'ome is, I'll leave a dish be'ind the garden shed."

"Excellent. When should I fill it?"

"I allus take a walk 'round the place righ' afore sunrise, jus' to check on things. Dae ye ken?"

"I thought you were an iEnglish/i bulldog, Ripper."

"One of me ancestors looked after William Wallace."

"So did one of mine," Minerva purred. "Common ground at last. I do apologize for your distress, Ripper. I shall check on Miss Dursley personally and ensure that she has the best of care. Now do pardon me while I change forms so that I can get you a bit of potion now. It should be safe since all of the humans are absent at the moment."

Minerva assumed her human form, produced her wand, and conjured a bottle of the potion and a bowl, which she filled with the murky liquid.

"Here you are, Ripper. Get it inside you."

Ripper vocalized briefly, then lapped up the potion. His hackles raised and he shook his head savagely.

Minerva shifted back so that she could understand him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Beggin' your pardon Minerva, but this stuff tastes like 'ell!"

"It is quite bitter, but just give it a moment."

"If you say so, Minerva - oh..." Ripper heaved a great sigh. "I can' say I feel like a pup again, but that does 'elp. For a witch, you're a fine cat, Minerva." Minerva inclined her head, and briefly rubbed against Ripper's massive shoulder.

"For a dog, you're a fine fellow, Ripper."

"Oh, do you recall that red lass o' mine, the one the mistress kept out o' my third litter wi' Penelope?" Minerva admitted that she did. "She jus' took best in breed a' Westminster. 'Grand Champion Lady Catherine Athena of Dursleyfield', she is now, but Penelope an' I jus' call her Minerva. She's a bit 'eadstrong too, you see," he explained with a gentle smile. Minerva's eyes filled, and she blinked. "I'm not going to chase you no more, neither. If they can't 'andle us bein' friends, piss on 'em, I say. I'm too old for that 'orseshit now. My eyes ain't what they used to be, but I know a friend when I smell one."

"As a cat, my eyes are as good as ever, and you know how a cat's eyes are, do you not?"

"I do. Our eyes are no match for a cat's, though I'm all for dogs in other respects, you understand," Ripper explained.

"That's as it should be. In any case, this cat's eyes see a friend in you too. I'll just go and check on Miss Dursley. Take care of yourself, Ripper, and I thank you for the honour."

"I thought you couldn't abide cats, why have you dragged me out here at this ungodly hour to see a blasted cat?" Colonel Fubster asked Marjorie Dursley.

"This one is different, shows up the last day of every month just before sunrise. Be quiet and watch. Here it comes."

A tabby cat ghosted into sight from the woods in back of Marjorie Dursley's home. The cat carried a flower in its mouth and laid the flower in front of a stone inscribed - "Ripper - a Good Dog". The cat sat for a moment in silent regard, then butted the stone with its head, scraped its jaw along the name, and disappeared back into the woods.


End file.
